


What you need

by Neonbat



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Beginning 17 Peter, Body horror (wade), Depression, Don't look at me like that, M/M, Mentions of suicide idealogy, Mentions of teenage bullying, No Underage Sex, Rehabilitation, Spideypool - Freeform, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, Wade tries to be a good person, Wade's protective, dysphoria mentions, mentions of binding, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: Peter Parker, for lack of a better description, is having a shit time. An incident at school leads him to rash decisions and when he finds himself in the middle of New york alone and at night, he knows he’s in trouble. A mysterious man rescues him in a tight spot and despite Wade being kind of terrifying in his own right, he turns out to be the friend Peter needs, and in the end, the one Wade needs as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was so fun to write for! So happy to be in this!
> 
> Give a shout to my fucking amazing artist Chez! Like, HOLY CRAP isn't that art amazing? I'm blown away, truly. It's so pretty.  
> Follow them at monchez-art.Tumblr.com !!
> 
> And thanks to my beta: Lizmny3 !

 

 

It felt like a cliche. The chilly mist, hovering around ass-o-clock, huddled in a sweatshirt, but that’s where Peter Parker found himself on a school night a few miles around from home. His phone buzzed for what had to be the sixth time in thirty seconds, but he ignored it, like he was ignoring everything else.

 

Realistically, he knew running away from his problems wasn’t a good idea. Worrying Aunt May, Ned, and everyone else half to death wasn’t going to make his face hurt any less, or heal the ugly bruise forming under his binder, but he didn’t care. Every teenager was allowed at least one major fuck-up; it was a cosmic rule of adolescence! May had told him herself of all the things she’d gotten into when she was young, more as cautionary tales, but Peter would cite those as point-proven later. 

 

May had been great this past year, even more than usual. She was understanding in a way few parents were these days. His new-ish jeans and sweatshirt felt like weights on him, reminding him that May hadn’t needed to pony up so much money on buying him a new wardrobe. 

 

Guilt churned in his gut, and with a reluctant sigh he tugged out his phone to scroll through the mountain of texts from his little pod of friends, and more importantly, Aunt May. She’d given up calling two hours ago when she’d gotten home from work to find his letter hastily scrawled on the kitchen counter.

 

He just needed a few days, that was it. A few days without all  _ this _ hanging over his head. 

 

Peter shrugged his backpack a little higher and headed down the next street, angling towards one of his friends he figured he could crash with for the night without him snitching. Was he acting like a big ol’ bag of seventeen year old douche? Definitely, but that didn’t make him turn around.

 

[I’m fine. I’ll txt. Promise] He message May and tucked his phone away to conserve battery.

 

His ribs were killing him, and he was pretty sure he was never getting the blood out of the collar of his shirt underneath his hoodie, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the shirt he’d worn to school for May to find and freak out about. The last thing he wanted was for her to find out he’d gotten the tar kicked out of him on school grounds. He was on thin ice as it was with half the faculty, and he hadn’t even done anything!

 

Snuffling against the flecks of dried blood clogging up his right nostril, he ducked around the back of the row houses to jog up the small porch. Peter nearly lost a foot through the middle step, but he managed. 

 

“Come on…” Four knocks and minutes later there was no answer, and Peter resigned himself to just texting. Minutes later, the small quack of his text-tone sounded.

 

[Sorry man, outta town. I totally told you that.]

“Crap.” He groaned, sighing against the wobbly handrail. Now what? Ned would nark in five seconds, and there were only two other people he could think of that  _ might _ keep their mouths shut, but they were too far away from him to get to tonight in the state he was in. 

 

Worrying his lower lip, Peter hit the streets again. He had a fifty in his pocket that was supposed to go towards an end-of-the-year field trip, but these days he didn’t feel up to going out of town with a good chunk of his graduating class. Some of those jerks were the reason he was out here anyway. 

 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to fight back, he had! But it had been a hell of a long time since he’d taken those taekwondo lessons. Back when an annoying boy used to pull his pony tail and his nails were glittery purple. Not that he’d necessarily mind the nail polish now, but he figured that’d be more likely to add to the bruising. 

 

It was either cave and get a cheap room in a motel that was likely to give him bed bugs, or find a twenty-four hour diner to camp out in until it was bright enough that he could make other plans. Either way, he had to get out of the more residential side of the area and towards the businesses. 

 

His feet were aching, but then again, all of him was aching at this point and his backpack was only adding to the ache of having his binder on since seven this morning. Aunt May would kill him if she knew, but it wasn’t like he had many options. If school was bad, well, getting caught downtown by himself was likely to end up with way worse than a busted lip and some bruised ribs. 

 

Minutes bled by into another hour, and Peter found himself walking by a dimly lit convenience store with a small group of slighter older boys lingering outside. It was nearly two in the morning, so the fact that they were out there with brown wrapped bottles and low chuckling tones didn’t take a genius to figure out they were the kind of guys Peter needed to steer clear of. 

 

He was nearly in what he’d consider a safe-zone when he heard one of the boys call out, “‘Ay! Got any smokes, man?” 

 

Normally the elation of being addressed like that would get Peter’s friendliest smile, but the last thing he felt right now was relief. “Nope, sorry dude.” He half-turned, offering what he hoped to be a look between apologetic and disinterested. 

 

A few heartbeats later, he heard the fading voices of the boys pick up. “Hey, hold up.” Another called, and the slow sound of casual pursuit was on him. 

 

Peter side-glanced once more in time to see the three fall into line behind him, far away enough not to be an immediate threat, but close enough where if they gained ground abruptly, he’d be in trouble. 

 

“Sorry, meeting someone.” Peter lied. He might be a straight-A student, but he wasn’t stupid in the ways of the street. Down here you either learned or you lost what little you worked for, and he’d been busting his butt at his part-time job for the past year and he wasn’t about to lose what little cash he’d kept for himself. The rest was in a lockbox safely tucked away in the pantry.

 

One of the guys chortled, and their pace picked up. “That’s cool, we won’t keep y’ long dude.”

 

Fuck it. Alarm bells were ringing like crazy, and Peter had grown up to trust his gut. He usually had a six-sense for danger, and even when there was jack shit he could do about it, at least he knew when to brace for it. 

 

He bolted, peeling off full-tilt fast enough that he could hear the first boy startle and shout after him. 

 

Unfortunately for him, the combination of drunk idiots and his ribs screaming at him didn’t make for a fortunate chase on his part. Peter was fast when he was decently rested and able to breath , but like this, he was woefully incapable of outrunning all three of them for long. 

 

One thing was for sure, running like this there was no way he was going to ditch them and with how much he was already flagging, he had to make a move.

 

Peter pivoted and tore down an alley, hoping to the heavens it wasn’t blocked off or packed with city debris. He dodged around a fallen trashcan and nearly tripped over some cardboard as he burst out to the next street, the shouts of the older boys behind him. 

 

Cursing softly, he dashed across the road towards another alley angled a little up the street. He had just enough of a lead on them to hopefully lose them in the next alley, but he wasn’t going to count on any miracles. Life had taught him the only miracles were generally of your own making. Aunt May had never wanted to crush his dreams, but she hadn’t wanted him to sit around waiting on other people to hand him things either. 

 

Peter managed to skid to an awkward halt right before he crashed into a man loitering in the middle of the alley, squeaking an abrupt, “Sorry!” Before wheeling around him. Peter couldn’t make out much about the weird guy in the middle of a dark alley, but he made out a beat-up leather jacket and a hood-shrouded head, and that was enough for Peter to high-tail it out of there. He didn’t need anyone else trying to punch his ticket tonight. 

 

He’d just cleared the alley when he heard the sound of impact and a strangled shout. There were angered tones of two of the boys got a few words off before the sounds of a scuffle cut them off, and two more heavy thuds. The whole thing took about eight seconds before the only sounds were distant honking and coughing from an open window of an apartment above. 

 

Every instinct within him was telling him to take the win and keep running until he got his butt back to where he belonged, especially when a delighted tittering echoed from the dark, garbage-strewn pass. 

 

Peter took a cautious step in, squinting into the lamplight to see the crumpled figures of the three boys groaning at the alley-man’s feet. The man was laughing, hands planted triumphantly against his hips. 

 

“Holy  _ shit _ , I hope you didn’t steal drugs or something from them or something kid. Actually, no wait, I do, so then you can share.” The man stepped towards him, and Peter back-pedaled a few steps. “Chill squirrely, I took care of it, now you’re all safe and sound...So about those drugs —”

 

“I didn’t steal from them, “ Peter quickly interjected. “They just started chasing me.”

 

The stranger’s shoulders sagged, “Darn. That’s no fun. Hoping it was something cool, like a gang fight.” He smirked, bending to poke at one of the collapsed men with his finger, chuckling as the fallen groaned. 

 

O-kay, that answered why the guy was standing in an alleyway. He sounded a few crayons shy of a full box. Not that Peter was judging, but generally when he met bloodthirsty strangers in the middle of the night in an alley, his brain screamed ‘RUN IDIOT!’.

 

“Nope just three douchebags.” Peter offered a twin, wavering smile as he took another step back. 

 

“Hey wait up,” The man flung out a hand, and for a pulse-pounding moment, Peter thought he was about to throw something. “Come ‘ere.” He motioned, and from under the shadow of his hood Peter could see him frown when his request went unheeded.”Come on kid, not going to go all Gacy on you. Come ‘ere.”

 

Peter hazarded two steps closer since the guy looked like he could smear him against the pavement if he felt like it. “‘Cause that reference makes me feel  _ so _ much better.” He swallowed, shoulders stiffening as a sudden bark of laughter almost unseated the man from the balls of his feet and onto the pavement. 

 

“Yeah I guess it wouldn’t.” The stranger snickered and started rifling around the semi-conscious boy’s pockets.”Paydirt!” He pulled out a wad of twenties and a baggy of green, smiling like a kid on christmas. “So whataya want as a finders fee? The cash or the bud?” He held them up as if he was a pair of scales.

 

Peter glanced around them, fully expecting to see cops melt out of the shadows. “Neither...So um, thanks for the — “ He motioned weakly towards the fallen teens, “But can I go without you shiving me or — ?” His voice cracked, and he winced.

 

In a frankly startling display of agility, the man was up next to Peter and looping the arm that held the weed around the seventeen-year-old’s shoulder. ”Heyyy there Dave my man, I’m not going to shiv you. We’re pals, see?” He tucked half the stack of twenties into Peter’s hoodie.”I never stiff my bookie, bad for business.”

 

“D-Dave?” Peter reeled, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

 

“ _ Well _ , it’s not like you’ve introduced yourself, Dave, so I had to improvise.” He grinned, attempting to stuff the weed into Peter’s other pocket before the teen could swat him away. 

 

“My name’s Peter, not Dave.” Peter blurted, too preoccupied by keeping the baggy out of his person to notice his slip up.

 

The man brightened, “ _ Peter _ . That’s a way better name then Dave, p.s. don’t tell Dave that,  _ primadonna _ am I right?” He snorted, gripping Peter’s shoulder in a friendly squeeze before backing off. ”Name’s Wade, and you, my little gutter rat, look like shit.”

 

Peter reeled, unable to process the sudden shift in his night or whether he should be afraid of this guy or not. “I-I guess?” He did feel like shit, that’s for sure. He wanted a shower and to sleep for fifteen years, and maybe a cheeseburger. 

 

Wade shoved the rest of the loot into his pockets and back-glanced at the faintly stirring three. “Walk with me, kiddo.” Once again Peter found himself in the crook of Wade’s armpit, only this time he was being dragged along out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. ”So talk to me kid, what’s a little munchkin like you doing in this shitheap in the middle of the night?”

 

Peter side-eyed Wade as they walked, “Pretty sure everyone’s parents say never talk to strangers…”

 

“Really? Mine sure didn’t, then again Dad’s favorite child’s toy was a hammer.” Wade snorted, ”And we’re not strangers! We’re practically brothers by now, pinky swear, no funny business.”

 

There was something about Wade that made Peter let his guard down. Maybe Wade was just really good at the show he was putting on, or maybe Peter was just  _ that _ tired, he didn’t know. “Headed to a diner or a motel or something.” He shrugged, wincing as discomfort bloomed in his chest. He was about to upgrade ‘bruised’ to ‘cracked’ ribs. 

 

“Annndd then maybe a hospital?” 

 

Wade’s tone was so innocent Peter almost didn’t catch the note of insistence in his tone. “Just some bruises..” Peter mumbled, tugging his hood up higher on his head. 

 

“Take it from me kid, never know what kind of nastiness is lurking under a good shiner.” Wade pressed. 

 

Sighing, Peter looked over, catching sight of a surprisingly handsome face as they passed under a lamplight. “I kinda just want to sleep.”

 

“You’re going to sleep at a diner?” Wade smirked, warm brown eyes bright with amusement.

 

“...Or a motel.” Peter mumbled, a bit shaken by how perceptive a man he’d taken as a little weird was. 

 

Wade’s nose scrunched, “Ugh, all the motels around here have syphilis and fleas.” He mimed scratching his crotch, grinning when Peter snorted a soft chortle. 

 

Shrugging in Wade’s hold, Peter reached up to touch his bruised lip that still tasted coppery to his tongue. “Yeah, well, not much choice. Kinda, just needed some air for a few days.”

 

Wade hummed lightly and turned them down a street,”Gotcha. On the ye ol’ walk about, shit wait no that might be racist, quick, uh, soul search? Yeah that’s it, good recovery.” He whispered the last part to himself. 

 

Brow quirking, Peter nodded.”Maybe?”

 

Wade paused them in front of a brick apartment building that looked as if it might be one of the gentrified old buildings if it wasn’t for the homeless man passed out on the stoop. “Here we are!”

 

Peter stared up at the building, then at Wade. “Where’s ‘here’ exactly?” The sinking feeling was back in his stomach.

 

“My place! No offense kid but you’re going to get your ass kicked if you keep scuttling around here. Not to uh, brag or anything — “ Wade thumbed his nose and stuck a hand in his pocket to puff out his chest and rock on his heels, ”But sticking with Wade over here? You’re good as gold. No one would dare.”

 

Peter paled slightly,”U-uh no...that’s okay, really! I’m good, Squirrelier than I look, really.” He wiggled from Wade’s hold, but he’d barely squirmed before Wade was letting go.

 

“Oh hey, I’m not going to do anything, Petey. I meant when I said it’s dangerous down here and I might be kind of shitty but I’m not so shitty is to let a kid get stabbed in a back alley.” Wade frowned, the first serious expression Peter had seen on his face settling. “If I’d wanted to hurt you, I could of already.” He pointed out, a small smile quirking his lips. 

 

Well… He did have a point. Wade could have murdered him three times over, and maybe he was just waiting to get him inside to strangle him or worse, but Peter didn’t  _ feel _ threatened by him. It was more the situation at this point that was disconcerting, rather than Wade himself. That had to count for something. 

 

“Okay.” Peter nodded, “But just so you know people would look for me, like a lot of people!” Okay maybe not a  _ lot _ of people, but enough!

 

A broad grin broke over Wade’s lips, one that might have melted Peter’s stomach to goo if they hadn’t already been beaten to a pulp today. “Read you loud and clear Tex, come on.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Wade’s apartment was exactly what Peter imagined when someone described a ‘bachelor pad’. Slightly corn-chippy and had a questionable amount of dirty laundry, but it wasn’t disgusting, and as long as there wasn’t anyone lurking in the shadows ready to kidnap him, Peter was more than grateful to sink down on Wade’s leather couch. 

 

“Put your feet up kid, Mi casa hakuna matata.” Wade grinned from the open concept kitchen and began puttering around, tugging off his jacket halfway through tugging boxes from his clogged pantry. 

 

Peter watched as his peculiar host made what he assumed to be spaghetti, hugging his backpack against his chest. He glanced around, noting the exposed beams above, and the not quite finished electrical work that lead back into the bedroom only separated from the combo living and kitchen room by two partitions. 

 

“Did you just move in?” He asked, breaking his quiet resolve not to ask too many questions just in case Wade ended up being completely bananas. 

 

Wade’s whistling cut off mid-toot, and he looked back while dumping a truly alarming amount of pasta into a pot. “Nope, been here ages.” His eyes tracked Peter’s absent staring, and he chuckled.”I get bored sometimes. Watch too much HDTV. Chip and Joanna are the  _ cutest _ .” He beamed another white-toothed smile and went back to cooking, bobbing his head to imaginary music all the while. 

 

Despite himself, Peter smiled softly and tucked his head against his backpack. Okay, so maybe Wade  _ was _ completely bananas, but he still didn’t feel in danger, so Peter was glad to stay put and toe off his sneakers for a little bit. 

 

Twenty minutes later Peter is laden with a plate piled with spaghetti and sauce, with a curious side dish of a stack of snack cakes. Setting his bag aside, he tried to negotiate the plate and ended up setting his dessert on the coffee table while cradling the plate. Loud slurps from the other side of the couch sounded, and Peter glanced over. Wade’s chin was already streaked in sauce, and much to Peter’s horror, he immediately followed a big bite of pasta with a bite of a honeybun. 

 

It was possibly the most hilarious thing he’d ever seen. 

 

Peter laughed, unable to hide the crinkled, summery laugh that kids used to tease made his nose look funny, or his ears stick out. Wade grinned back, pointedly reaching to thumb a bit of errant sauce from his thumb onto Peter’s cheek. 

 

“Eat up, Tiny, carbs are friends.” Wade encouraged around his bulging cheeks. 

 

Lost to Wade’s antics, Peter complied, and once he started eating it was too easy to plow through the majority of it, and chase it with two snack cakes. Teenage boys were bottomless pits anyway, but Peter felt like this past year had kicked it up a notch for reasons he had hidden in the bottom of his bag in a hard case. 

 

A loud burp announced Wade polishing off all his food, and he flopped back against the couch, absently rubbing his food baby that bulged his otherwise washboard stomach. “Okay, so I got the broad strokes. Teenage rebellion, pulling a  _ Savannah Smiles  _ , but why all the  —” Wade gestures tomatoey fingers at Peter’s face,”On your cute little face?”

 

Peter pushed a little of the random debris littering Wade’s coffee table out of the way to set his mostly empty place down, still picking at his third cake. “Kinda embarrassing I guess? Even if it was three on one, and I totally maybe knocked Tyler’s tooth out.” 

 

Wade sat up a little, brows furrowing.”Hold the phone, did you get beat up?”

 

Blushing, Peter sank down deeper into the couch.”More like  _ annihilated _ . It was humiliating.” He grumbled, tucking his bare feet up on the couch. “I didn’t want my Aunt to see me and get worried so I kind of just, split for a bit? I’ve texted her and everything and left a note, so it’s not like I’m running away,  _ I’m not _ , I just…” He trailed, poking his tongue against his swollen lip for the billionth time in the past four hours. 

 

A storm passed over Wade’s eyes, one that would have scared Peter shitless if it had been directed at him instead of towards the kitchen. The searing rage was gone as quick as it cropped up, and Wade clicked his tongue. “Damn shame, a face like that shouldn’t get rearranged.” Wade grinned, sending a wink that would have been devastatingly handsome if it wasn’t for the remaining tomato sauce smeared around his lips. 

 

It was moments like this Peter wished he could suck his head into his neck like a turtle. “C-come on, I got my ass kicked, you’re going to kick me while I’m down?” Cute?  _ Cute _ ? 

 

“Hey, I’m being serious! You’re a knockout! Bruises aside, bet you make all the hot — No wait,” Wade paused, face scrunching in deep thought. “How old are you?”

 

“Seventeen, my birthday was a couple months ago.” Peter tittered as the slow dawning broke over Wade’s face.

 

“Oh shit, okay, rewind!” Wade chopped the air, warding off the invisible pedo demons. “ _ Smooth one Wade. Be super creepy.” _ He whispered to himself, much like he had in the alley way, “ **Okay but in some countries** ... _ dude really _ ?” His eye twitched and he looked back at Peter with a helpless grin. “Seventeen, gotcha. No weirdness I promise, but it’s totally not creepy if I say you’re going to  _ grow up _ to be a knockout, see? Brilliant recovery, ten points to Gryffindor.” 

 

Peter giggled once more, not minding if his nose scrunched when he laughed, or his voice still sounded a bit too androgynous for his liking. “I’m a Hufflepuff, soooo.”

 

Wade gasped, clapping a hand to his chest. “ Tu también? Badgers till we die dammit! The other houses don’t even know.” 

 

Puffing quiet laughter, Peter finally let himself be bold and look Wade over. Handsome didn’t quite cut it. Wade was downright gorgeous in a model way, and if it wasn’t for the numerous scars decorating his bare arms and one nicking his stubbly chin, Peter would have thought him too pretty to be a roughneck. 

 

“So...what do you do?” Peter ventured, thinking that Wade was chill enough not to immediate stab him for asking. 

 

Wade settled back in the couch, hands crossed over his full stomach. “Iiiii, solve problems for money.” He grinned a Cheshire smile, knowing full well that answered nothing, but said everything.

 

Peter’s lips made a small ‘o’ of realization. That explained the scars then, and why Wade looked like he could pick Peter up and throw him across the room without breaking a sweat. 

 

“Go get cleaned up kid, I’ll take a look at those bruises and cuts. I’m no nurse, but — “ Wade made a sweating gesture down his scarred body. ”I’ll bring you some jammie-jams.”

 

Hesitating for a moment, Peter weighed his options. On one hand, showering in some guy’s apartment he met in one of the worst areas of town screamed stupid, but on the other hand, if Wade had wanted to do something, he could have done anything by now, including drugging the food. Looking at Wade, even knowing what he did, Peter didn’t think the man was that kind of guy. 

 

“Okay.” Peter bobbed his head, and rose, taking his backpack towards the only other door in the small apartment aside from the one off the kitchen Peter assumed to be a broom closet by location alone. 

 

The bathroom also showed signs of Wade’s home improvement obsession by the half-mosaic tiled sink and the distinct lack of a functioning doorknob. Frowning, Peter set his backpack by the door to keep it mostly closed and stripped. 

 

Peeling out of his binder after wearing it all day feels like everything good in his life exploding from his chest all at once. Even if tossing it aside reveals angry looking bruising on his lower mid ribcage, and the angry bite marks of it digging into his flesh. Worse still, the roundness of pert breasts. Realistically, he knows he could have it way worse. He maybe topped off at A-cup, and his doctor assured him that by the time he filled out and maybe gained a little weight he would only need a small amount of surgery to achieve his ideal chest, but seeing himself now, it was hard to imagine. 

 

Frowning briefly at his reflection, Peter stripped the rest of his clothes off and hurriedly climbed into the shower. The blast of hot water is just another layer of euphoria to his free shoulders, and he almost dreads getting out of the shower. The idea of putting the binder back on for the night sounds god-awful, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t just go from no-breasts to breasts in a stranger’s house. It felt like another good way to end up hurt. Being trans is what had turned people against him to start with.

 

Peter wasn’t even the only kid in school either, but he supposed he was just more ‘high profile’. Being a part of school clubs and topping out as one of the highest GPAs in school already made him a topic of ridicule, but his slow changing over the past year and a half had sealed the deal. 

 

He cut the water and stepped out, tugging a towel from the stack in the cabinets and wrapped it tight around his thin, athletic body. 

 

Five minutes later he’d wrestled himself back into his binder, and was fishing around his bag for a new shirt when the door creaked open. 

 

“Got some jammies, hope you like tacos~” Wade announced, stepping into the bathroom with a bundle of clothing in his arms.

 

For a pulse-pounding moment, Peter was sure this was where things went south. Even if most people didn’t know what a binder was, it was still enough to lead to questions that he’d rather not answer.

 

A heartbeat went by, then another, and slowly Wade’s brows furrowed, and Peter’s stomach dropped. “Dude, you can’t just put that on wet, you’ll wreck your skin, and dollars to donuts you have a cracked rib. That can fuck you up you know.” Wade chastised and passed off the clothes, “Eight-hour rule!” He reminded, and turned to walk back out, leaving Peter staring blankly after. Well, it felt oddly fitting for Wade at least.

 

Peter looked down at the bundle in his hands and dissolved into giggles that bordered on delirium. He might have walked into some kind of weird alternate reality, but he was strangely alright with it. 

 

Stripping off his binder again was met with the same relief, and he was all too glad to shove it in his bag. He pulled on the baggy band shirt and the taco-patterned leggings that didn’t look like they’d immediately fall off him and snickering quietly at Wade’s choice of pajamas.  Peter would bet Wade actually wore these.

 

“Pop a squat.” Wade greets him with a well stocked first aid kit and a stool. 

 

Getting poked, prodded, and ointmented didn’t feel great, but having Wade fuss over him wasn’t as terrible as Peter thought it would be. Even if Wade spent half the time muttering to himself in nonsensical phrases that Peter could only half-hear, it still felt nice. Wade’s calloused hands were gentle and polite, and Wade sheepishly asked him to raise his shirt a little so Wade could check his ribs. 

 

By the time Peter was bundled up on Wade’s couch, encompassed in the massive comforter from Wade’s bed, Peter was reasonably sure that Wade wasn’t just a good guy, but possibly an awesome one. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

 

 

It was a mixture of ‘Wake me up before you Go-go’ and pancakes that stirred Peter from his cocoon. Groaning low, he peered his head up from the folds, blinking to focus against the light streaming in through the windows, illuminating the lone, scraggly potted plant on the windowsill by the kitchen. 

 

Wade moved around the kitchen, shirtless, but thankfully in sweatpants and an apron to make up for it. Peter didn’t think he could handle that much skin in the morning, and staring at Wade’s broad, muscular back was bad enough. Morning wood wasn’t exactly something he’d been expecting when he’d started transitioning, but thankfully (in his opinion) his wasn’t about to grab anyone’s attention any time soon. 

 

“Morning,” Peter mumbled, sitting up with a loud yawn.

 

Looking back over his shoulder, Wade flashed his best smile. ”Mornin’ pumpkin. Get some sleep? Your face looks a little better, getting in that gross stage now.” He paused the pancakes long enough to fetch a well-traveled ice pack from the freezer and wrap it in a few paper towels. ”Here, this’ll help.” He tossed it.

 

“Thanks.” Peter fished the pack from the comforter and pressed it gingerly to his molted cheekbone with a low hiss. “First time I was ever punched in the face, I figured it hurt, but not  _ this _ bad, you know? People just pop back up in the movies! I thought I was going to puke.” He was aware of how pathetic that sounded, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t have a habit of getting in fist fights. It wasn’t really something he’d had to worry about before. 

 

“Cheek smashes are pretty bad, but back of the head punches? Now  _ those _ are smarts.” Wade shot Peter a sympathetic eye and went back to making an unnecessary amount of pancakes. “Try not to move around too much today, if you cracked something you gotta let that rib get some rest. Trust me on it, migrating ribs aren’t nearly as funny as they sound… Would make for a cool Indie band though.” He mumbled conspiratorially. 

 

Shaking his head with a fond smile, Peter tenderly rose from the couch and set the ice pack aside. ”I’ll get right on that, right after this.” His bladder was about to burst from too much soda pop last night. 

 

After washing his hands, Peter migrated to the kitchen area, hovering as he watched Wade move around. “Can I um, do anything?” He didn’t want his host to just sit there and wait on him, it was rude. Battered or not, Peter wasn’t about to freeload. 

 

Wade appraised him with a low hum, “Grab the OJ from the fridge?” He requested a wickedness in his eyes that shouldn’t have accompanied such an innocent request. 

 

Peter walked towards the fridge, side-eyeing Wade as he went. He opened the fridge, expecting — Well he didn’t know what to expect out of Wade at this point, but seeing a big print out of OJ Simpson strapped to the orange juice box should have been something he anticipated. “Really?” He chuckled, reaching out to grab it, only to find ‘The juice is on the loose!’ sticky-noted under the bottle. 

 

Laughing hurt, but it was worth it. 

 

“You weren’t even born then, but nothing beats a good OJ joke.” Wade snickered, plating the rest of the pancakes between the two sizable plates. “Soup’s on kid, let’s get some meat on those bones.” Wade tutted Peter’s hand away from a plate. “Grab the juice and some cups, watch the ribs!” 

 

Despite his joking, Wade was almost as fussy as Aunt May, not that Peter minded. It was...nice. As emo-tastic as it made him sound, it felt nice to have a random stranger be so kind to him. It made the world feel a little less terrible than it had yesterday. Too many people had seen him get the tar kicked out of him, and had anyone done anything? The short answer to that was no. Not a dang thing. 

 

Climbing back into the sanctity of the comforter, Peter settled beside Wade as the older man clicked on the television. Watching Judge Judy while trying to make a dent into the five-stack was possibly one of the best mornings Peter had in a while. Mornings at home were generally rushed and spent in a semi-state of panic as he and May dashed by each other to start their day. Cereal or poptarts made up the majority of his breakfasts, and May took her coffee to go. He’d thought about getting up early to make breakfast, but now that he was in AP classes and working on the weekends, he needed all the spare sleep he could get. Sometimes it felt like him and May were ships passing, but he didn’t blame anyone. Life was hard sometimes, and they needed the money. The city wasn’t cheap.

 

He glanced at Wade’s profile as they ate, smiling faintly as Wade rolled up one of his pancakes and dipped the syrupy tube into his orange juice. 

 

Catching Peter’s eye, Wade stuck out his tongue. ”Don’t knock it til you try it, it’s good!” He vowed, punctuating his proclamation with a too-big bite from his dripping pancake. 

 

Peter stared down at the triangle of food on his fork, “I’ll bite.” He grinned and dunked the forkful into his drink. Admittedly, the texture left something to be desired, but honestly, it wasn’t bad. “Bet if you mixed orange juice and syrup it’d be really good.” He mumbled around a mouthful, seeing as Wade had the table manners of a honey badger anyway. 

 

Wade gasped, eyes widening. ”Maybe onto something kid! Best thing though? Getting a fuckton of bacon and making a pancake taco. If I hadn’t thrown all the bacon at that fucking pigeon day before yesterday you bet your ass I’d of made  _ real _ breakfast tacos.”

 

He wasn’t even going to ask what the pigeon did to deserve a pig-themed retaliation. 

 

The plates got stacked in the kitchen, and Peter was pretty sure he was going to die a pancake-related death, but encompassing himself into the blankets instilled a sense of peace that made the encroaching food coma worth it.

 

Wade settled back on the other end of the couch, shoving his feet under the blanket. “You call your mom?”

 

Blinking blearily, Peter yawned. “My mom and dad died. My Aunt raised me, but yeah I texted her before I went to sleep.” He dug around a little to produce his phone from the comforter as he sat the slushy icepack against his aching ribs. 

 

Wade hummed a nod, “Sucks. Text her again though,” He insisted, staring Peter down until he unlocked his phone and started typing. “How long do you plan on knocking around? She’s gotta be worried about you.” 

 

Peter shrugged his shoulders and dropped the phone after hitting ‘send’. ”I know. God, I know she must be worried but, I couldn’t just let her see me all beat up you know? It’d break her heart and I...I’d rather her worry and think I’m being a brat teenager than for her to worry about me having problems at school.” Imagining the look on May’s face if she found out about all the bullying made Peter’s heart heave. She’d been so supportive and the best parent a kid could ask for, and he didn’t want to taint the bubble of sunshine she always tried to reserve for him. He knew May worried, about money, about him, and her job, but she always made a join to go out of her way for him and he… he wanted to protect her from this. Protect her a little from how shitty people could be. 

 

The weight of Wade’s eyes on him was faintly disconcerting when Wade wasn’t cutting a joke or being silly. For a moment, Peter feared he was being an idiot. ”I gotcha.” Wade answered at length, and straightened a leg till he could prod Peter’s with his big toe. “That’s sweet of you, kid, you can crash here for a few days if you want, til the bruises go down a bit. Keep icing them and some concealer should take care of it. Not the shitty ‘au natural’ crap, but the thick stuff made to cover up old lady’s shame. The damn apocalypse could happen and you’d still be funky fresh. Like this one time — “ Wade cut off, nose scrunching, “ _ Bad, No depressing stories smashed with humor to mask the suck.” _ He huffed to himself, “ **Hammers though, amiright?”**

 

Peter waited until Wade seemed to focus back on the conversation, “I’ll stop by the drugstore on the way home… But, are you sure? Th-that I can stay I mean, I don’t want to get in the way…”

 

Wade nudged him again, ”Heck yeah tater-tot. I’ll be in and out though, job has weird hours.” His brows waggled, knowing full well Peter had caught on to what exactly his job title was.

 

“I bet,” Peter’s face briefly scrunched. He couldn’t imagine going after people and  _ knowing _ you were going to get into a fight. It was equal parts cool and terrifying. He never wanted to hurt people on purpose if he could help it, he just wanted to learn how to keep himself in one piece before he had to start spitting teeth. 

 

Another episode of shitty day-time television later, Wade stood up. Half asleep, Peter reached out as Wade walked by, snagging the man’s arm. “Thanks, Wade.” He murmured, leaning gingerly to press an awkward hug to Wade’s waist. 

 

Wade’s hand falls on his head, patting three times. “No problem buckaroo. Get some more sleep.” 

 

* * *

 

Two days with Wade went by fast. They were a blur of the weird, the comforting, and the peculiar. Between Wade’s unending appetite and his doting, Peter probably ate more in the past few days than he’d had all week. Wade’s strange taste in day-time television was something that took some getting used to, but the man’s commentary made the horribly scripted ‘reality’ shows into masterpieces. 

 

There were times when Wade left, mainly at night while Peter worked on homework from his backpack. A few hours after breakfast on the first day, and twice the second night. His eyes looked a little wild the first ten minutes back in the apartment, but soon enough he was back to the joking, teasing moron Peter was growing fond of fast. Sure, it might be weird for a teenager like him to think of a man who Peter ball-parked to be around thirty-five as a friend but… Peter didn’t care about the propriety of it right now. It wasn’t like they were doing anything  _ wrong _ . Wade was just helping him in a bad spot. 

 

Peter shifted on the couch, flopping onto his stomach as he read over his AP chemistry book, eyes crossing over the page of formula. It wasn’t overly difficult for him, but he’d been staring at textbooks for the past two hours while Wade was out. Laying on his stomach didn’t feel wonderful on his ribs, but he’d already committed to the position by now, and he was too lazy to immediately shift. 

 

Wade had been gone for three hours, and Peter couldn’t help but glance at the clock. It was the third night since he’d crashed here, and he was starting to learn more about Wade’s habits. Maybe if he wasn’t going to focus on his homework, he could at least order a pizza as a surprise for when Wade returned. 

 

Right around the time Peter worried the pizza was going to get cold, and his phone games were getting boring, a heavy thump rattled the door. Peter startled, dropping his phone into his blankets. Cautiously, Peter crept from the couch, toes curling against the cheap vinyl tiles that covered the entire apartment. He remembered Wade saying there was a bat in the umbrella stand, but the notion that he might have to  _ use _ it turned his insides into jelly. 

 

The weak knock in the jaunt of ‘shave and a haircut’ that followed punched the trembling breath from Peter’s chest, and he rushed to the door. “Wade?”

 

“P-present kid.” Wade’s voice sounded strained, barely audible through the door. 

 

Quickly, Peter unlatched the set of three locks and pulled the door open, staggering under the sudden weight of Wade stumbling into him a moment later. The heavy scent of copper and sweat clung to Wade’s jacket, and the warmth that seeped into Peter’s shirt the longer Wade stayed leaned against him was so foreign in sensation it didn’t take long for Peter to figure out what it was.

 

“O-oh shit, Wade!” Peter squeaked, shuffling to the side to bodily drag Wade into the apartment and close the door after him. “Are you bleeding? Crap, of course, you are, what happened? What do I do?” He knew how to put bandaids on paper cuts and ice a sprained wrist, not — whatever the heck happened to Wade!

 

“Oh, you know...I said ‘Let’s dance’, and they did a  _ West Side Story _ to my  _ Cabaret _ .” Wade wheezed, reaching out with a bloodied hand to lean heavily against the counter. 

 

Peter threw on the main light, wincing at the sudden wash of bright white from the industrial bulb above. He almost wished he hadn’t. Wade’s shirt was drenched, sticky with drying blood as fresh droplets fell from the sodden edge onto the floor below. 

 

He paled, dashing towards the bathroom for the first aid kit and a handful of towels. “Sh-should I be calling an ambulance, or- ? Wade, talk to me.” He tossed the stuff on the counter and started to lift Wade’s shirt with careful hands.

 

Above him, Wade chortled weakly. “You know this isn’t what I had in mind when I pictured you stripping me.” He teased, “ _Really? Really? Bleeding out and really?_ **Don’t be dramatic. Solid fantasy. Eighteen-year-old birthdays and Katy Perry.** Ahhh, too loud.” Wade mumbled, scrubbing a bloody hand against his face, streaking his forehead and hair in red. 

 

Okay, well it looked like he wasn’t going to get much help from Wade right now, so he guessed he’d have to figure it out. Considering  _ how _ Wade had gotten the wound, Peter doubted he’d want him calling an ambulance unless he was close to death. All the healed over scars on Wade’s body said he’d survived a lot, so maybe it wasn’t that bad...maybe?   
  
“Uh, can you get to the couch — Yeah, that’s, ow, that’s good.” Peter grimaced when Wade all but fell against him again and they shambled there way to the couch. Wade cussed when he plopped down on the couch, but at least he didn’t fight when Peter startled wrestling his shirt off. 

 

The first sight of a fresh, bleeding stab wound made Peter’s stomach roll. It wasn’t like in the movies. It looked too much like cutting into a steak, just meat parted and flayed, oozing deep, fresh blood every time Wade moved. The wound looked neat between Wade’s lower false ribs, and Peter quietly thanked god he was taking AP Biology to give him at least a faint idea of what might have been nicked and to guestimate the severity of the wound. He was banking hard on his natural ability to absorb information like a sponge and a thought process that could power through about anything if he put his mind to it. 

 

“Okay okay, I’ve got this, just like dissecting but doing it in reverse. No problem.” He mumbled, hurrying to retrieve the first aid kit again. Flipping it open, he took a moment to marvel at just what constituted a ‘first aid’ kit to Wade. It looked like he was getting ready for a bootleg surgery instead of just bandages and ointment.   
  
Wade’s bloody hand descended on his head, “You’d...you’d make a good nurse kid.” He smiled weakly and leaned back against the couch cushion. ”Quick question, how’s your blanket stitch? _Do you wanna bleed out? Because that’s how you bleed out_ **Back stitch that mother fucker, put a bow on it!** No no, blanket stitch works, trust me.” He soothed what he called his ‘boxes’ and patted Peter’s head once more. 

 

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, reading between the lines. “L-like for stitches?” Fuck, he’d failed out of home-ec in middle school. He’d hated being stuck in the class with mostly girls, especially when he knew most things from Aunt May anyway. He could sew on a button and a straight line, and that was good enough, until now anyway. “Y-yeah sure.” 

 

Peter dumped disinfectant on some gauze and began gently patting the wound, flinching in time with the small jumps in Wade’s chest. It was still lazily bleeding once he was done, but until it was closed up Peter figured it would do that anyway. “I...don’t think it hit anything major? There would be a lot more blood right? If it… if it got anything important?” He squeaked, hands fumbling for some paper towels to wipe the blood off.

 

“Beats me,” Wade snorted lightly. “Figure it’s fifty-fifty” he snickered, frowning when Peter grew even more ashen. ”Aw, don’t give me that look Petey-pie. I’ll be fine...riiiight after I pass out or something equally as refreshing.”

 

The threat of Wade losing consciousness was enough to spur Peter on, and he dove into the kit for a needle and thread. “Don’t you dare! I swear if you pass out and leave me to do this I’m going to...to…!” He puffed a frustrated, borderline hysterical breath as he tore into a sterile needle pack. He didn’t even want to question why Wade stocked medical grade needle and thread in here, but he was thankful for it. If he had to do this with a sewing needle like he’d seen on dramas he might have fainted.    
  
“I don’t know what I’m doing, so I’m really  _ really _ sorry,” tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, but Peter settled in front of Wade on the coffee table. His hands shook while threading the needle, missing the first pass, as well as the second until finally the third slid home right around the time he began sniffling. 

 

Wade’s hand settled back on his head, thumb stroking sluggishly against his forehead. “You’re doing great, kid.” 

 

Pinching the skin together bubbled fresh blood against Peter’s fingertips. Pressing the needle into the skin was surprisingly easy with the medical needle, more disturbing than a comfort at this point. The stitches were sloppy and irregular, but after five minutes Peter managed to get the wound together without it popping open again. Wade was drenched in a cold sweat, but Peter hadn’t heard him make a sound of complaint, even if he was sure Wade had been biting them back for his sake. 

 

“O...One sec.” Peter abandoned trying to get the paper towels where they’d fallen on the floor so he wiped his bloodied hands on his ruined tshirt instead. 

 

Only after a proper bandage was in place, and the majority of the blood was swabbed from the area, did Peter finally feel some of the adrenaline begin to taper. 

 

“Good job, gold star,” Wade grinned at him, eyes at half mast. He looked disturbingly listless, so unlike the vibrant, if not eccentric, man, Peter was used to. 

 

Peter’s hand slid down to Wade’s, burying his quivering fingers with Wade’s. “Can you get up to your room? Probably be, comfier...or, something.” He didn’t know what to do now other than let Wade rest and hope.

 

Wade tried for a dramatic sigh that ended with a wince, “Yeah okay, bed good, sarcasm bad.” He grimaced, rising from the couch on shaking legs until Peter leaned in to help steady him. Between the two of them, they got Wade to his bedroom. 

 

“Don’t judge me by this striptease, not my A-game.” Wade cracked another smile as he struggled a moment with his jeans. A little wiggle and gumption got them off on his part, and Peter did his best not to notice Wade wore boxer-briefs.

 

Peter escaped to the bathroom as Wade lowered himself into bed, returning with a wet washcloth to clean up the remaining blood on Wade’s chest, face, and dab at his hair. As he withdrew, Wade’s hand reached to catch his wrist.

 

“Breaking my heart with those puppy eyes, muffin. It’s part of the job, not my first rodeo.” Wade was trying to assure him, but seeing Wade laying there, so stiff and drained, it didn’t make him feel much better. 

 

Peter dropped the towel on the nightstand and climbed onto the bed, settling next to Wade above the blanket. “Can I just… sit here a while? What if you stop breathing while you sleep or something?” Peter hesitated a moment, “Would you really want me to sleep in the same apartment as a dead body? Do you want to scar a teenager, Wade?” He smirked, adding a layer of humor that he knew Wade preferred by now. 

 

Wade chuckled, even if it hurt. ”Pretty sure playing nurse to a thug for hire is scarring you already.” He settled in the bed, huffing a tired sigh.

 

“Only a little,” Peter leaned against the wall, exhausted. He felt wrung out, more so than he had after getting the tar kicked out of him and wandering around the city for hours. This was different. He’d never been that scared in his life. To see someone like that…

 

Wade shifted a little, reaching out to weakly boop the end of his nose.”You okay, Sweetcheeks?”

 

Peter puffed a quiet laugh and swatted Wade’s hand back under the blanket.”’m okay, and that’s my line. Go to sleep, Wade.” He urged, for both their sakes.

 

It didn’t take much more than that for Wade to succumb. Dinner sat on the table, forgotten in the rush, but Peter didn’t want to drag himself out of bed to put it in the fridge. He wasn’t hungry now anyway. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Peter woke sprawled in Wade’s bed, a blanket carefully laid over him. The sound of Wade talking on the phone from the kitchen was a low rumbled drone, threatening to pull him back under. 

 

Slowly the events of the night trickled into his semi-conscious state and he rolled over on his back to struggle upright. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus from the amount of adrenaline that had poured through his veins last night, but knowing that Wade had suffered a stab wound got him out of bed faster than usual. 

 

His clothing cracked and stuck to him as he got up, flakes of dried blood peeling off his tshirt. Grimacing, he spared a look at Wade leaning carefully against the countertop as he talked and figured Wade was alright enough that Peter could risk taking a shower.    
  
He changed into the recently washed pair of taco-pants Wade had lent him and one of his own hastily grabbed tshirts crammed into his backpack.

 

“Mornin’, Sunshine.” Wade greeted him as he carried his soiled shirt and gym shorts to his bag.    
  
“Are you okay?” He bypassed the usual morning greeting entirely, eyes training in on the outline the bandages left against the line of Wade’s tank top. 

 

Wade glanced down a wry smile on his lips. “Jeez no foreplay?” He clicked his tongue and raised his shirt, showing Peter the newly cleaned and bandaged wound. “Just peachy keen, thanks to your handy work. Thanks by the way, usually I can clean up my own messes but the head-kick kind of scrambled my eggs there for a bit… No wait that makes it sound like my nads, uhhh, some other euphemism for concussions then. Nailed it.” He tugged his shirt down and produced a piece of cold pizza from the box. 

 

“Gross Wade, that was out all night.” Peter laughed, placated for the moment being. 

 

“So? No mold means time to monch. You gotta learn this early young padawon, you’re about to hit college, you’ll be eating a lot of questionable pizza.” He snorted around a pepperoni. 

 

Peter leaned over the counter to snatch one of the pieces to inspect it. Wade had already eaten a few slices and wasn’t dropping dead, so he figured it had to be at least edible.

 

“Don’t think I’ll get to go unless I can get a full ride, and even then… expensive you know?” Peter shrugged and shoved his first bite down his throat, suddenly famished from skipping dinner the night before. 

 

Wade’s nose crinkled as he picked up the box and carefully made his way over to the couch. “You’re a smart kid, I can barely read the  _ titles _ of your textbooks, fuck what’s in ‘em.” He lowered himself down with all the grace of an old man with a bad back, but he was trying not to pop any of Peter’s handy work. 

 

Peter settled next to him, passing off a soda from Wade’s fridge and settled his own between his legs. “Lots of people are smart.” He replied, finishing off his first slice and depositing the crust in Wade’s waiting hand. It hadn’t taken long for Peter to feel like existing next to Wade was effortless. As strange as Wade was, he just  _ fit _ . 

 

As usual, Wade put on shitty television for them to snark at, and they ate. It was great, right up until Wade was trying to kick him out.

 

Peter blinked, finishing off his soda with a small frown as he tried to process what Wade just said. 

 

“Your aunt has got to be tearing her hair out, and going by the picture you showed me, you can’t be responsible for that. Your aunt’s a hottie.” Wade’s brows wiggled suggestively, trying to draw out the usual arm-punch out of the teen, but it never came. 

 

“Yeah…” Peter chewed his lower lip, touching the bruise over his face. The swelling had gone down, and if he ran by the pharmacy he could easily hide it with concealer, but he still felt bereft at the idea of leaving just yet. “Will you be okay though?”

 

Wade waved him off lightly, “Not my first stab wound, probably won’t be the last either.” Which wasn’t at all as comforting as Wade was making it out to be. 

 

Heaving a heavy sigh, Peter nodded. ”Yeah, guess you’re right.” He needed to get back to school and take his lumps from Aunt May. He was probably going to be grounded til graduation, but it was worth it. The time spent with Wade —  It was worth the rib pain and a busted face.

 

“Can I… can we still talk though? Like, texting?” Peter asked, hope blooming in his deep eyes. “You’re just cool to talk to, and I don’t — “ He cut himself off before he could say ‘have a lot of people to talk to’, but it was written all over his face. 

 

Wade stared at him long enough Peter started to worry he was being disgustingly pathetic. “Geez, those puppy eyes are lethal!” Wade held a hand over his heart, “Mercy! I give.” He fished his phone from his pocket and held it out for Peter to program his number into, and Peter quickly did the same. 

 

Settling back into the couch for another hour didn’t instill the same peace in Peter’s chest as he had before, the ticking of the clock a reminder of what little time he had left. He packed after the show ended, cramming his clothes and books within his bulging bag.

 

“Oh shoot, your pants.” Peter started to unzip his bag.

 

“Keep it, fuck knows they look better on you then they did me.” Wade winked, chuckling at the rosy blush that spread over Peter’s cheeks every time he complimented the teen. 

 

Peter looked down at the garish, taco-covered leggings and smiled. “Unicorns would fit you better.” 

 

“ _ Right _ ?” Wade gasped with delight, ”Oh, hold on Tex. Got a number for you.” Wade produced a folded sticky-note from his pocket. ”LGBTQ, ABZ, and BBQ friendly gym. Domino has a kick-ass self-defense class and she’ll make you the next karate kid. Tell her I sent ya and you’ll be smashing skulls in no time.” 

 

Peter looked down at the number encircled in a badly drawn heart, and smiled. “Thanks Wade.” He tucked it away carefully in his wallet like a keepsake, already eager to see what it was about. If he could find a place he wasn’t scared-shitless to go into and learn how to fight back, maybe his remaining months in highschool wouldn’t suck quite so badly. 

 

Only when Peter was seated on the train did his mini-vacation feel a little surreal. He’d expected to couch surf for a few days before May eventually tracked him down and dragged him out by the ear, but this had been what he needed.  

 

His phone buzzed. [Lemme no when u get home safe & how bad the dmg is. Ps, u look adorbs when u sleep.] There were too many emojis for a grown man to use, and Peter quietly chortled to himself as he tucked his legs up under him on the train. If anyone stared at his taco-pants, well he didn’t give a fuck.

 

If only he knew that the very scene Wade described was what had spurred the man to send Peter on his way. Seeing Peter huddled against his shoulder, streaked in blood and exhausted, had been enough. Sometimes the fun had to end.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Being grounded for a month wasn’t that much of a surprise, and Peter thought May was a bit lenient with that but he had a sneaking suspicion Ned or some do-gooder had tipped her off to what had happened. To her credit, she’d managed to resist being even more doting, but Peter felt her eyes linger on him a little longer, and their togetherness time grew exponentially despite how busy she was. 

 

The guilt for worrying her was enough to curb any more flights into teenage fantasy. 

 

A few days after his sentencing was released, he found himself sprawled on a rubber cushioned floor, dying in a small gym two train spots from his apartment. 

 

[U didn’t say Domino was a  _ sadist _ ], Peter groaned, typing what felt like his umpteenth message to Wade for the day. After his phone was returned to him, he’d taken to texting Wade with abandon, so far the older man seemed more than happy to humor him, and Peter would take it.

 

Peter could practically hear Wade’s chuckling through his text, [ Didn’t I? Oopsie! <3] 

 

Rolling his eyes, Peter snapped a picture of him laying on the floor flipping off the camera and sent it. 

 

[Such LANGUAGE for a child] Wade followed it up with a picture of him clutching his pearls, effect ruined by the backdrop of him seated in a seedy dive bar.

 

Before Peter can muster a reply a towel smacks him in the face, “Come on Pipsqueak, get your ass in gear. You’re young, you’ll bounce back. Get bouncin’.” Domino smirked, cracking her neck with a slow roll that caused her voluminous hair to sway around her striking face. 

 

Groaning, he rolled up, tucking his phone away in his backpack. He might feel like he was going to puke up a lung, but it’d be worth it. He didn’t want to run away with his tail tucked between his legs again. 

  
  
  


[All I’m saying, is they taste like ballsack] The follow up emojis of every kind of ball in Wade’s phone was unnecessary, but Peter chortled all the same. 

 

He shivered faintly as he waited for the bus, snuffling deeper into his scarf. Weeks were passing effortlessly, and the first snowfall of the season fell without Peter expecting it. 

 

[Then just get the milk tea part!] Peter rolled his eyes, glancing up as the bus lazily rolled to a stop. 

 

Wade sent an eye-rolling gif, [& look like uncultured SWINE?] Pig emojis to follow.

 

Peter smiled down at his phone as he sat, not feeling the eyes of an old woman fall on him from the next seat over. 

 

A few texts later the woman smiled and offered him a peppermint that he readily accepted. “Must be quite the girl you got there young man, face is lit up like Christmas.” She teased, flashing a gummy smile at him while popping a candy of her own into her wrinkled-lined mouth. 

 

Peter barely managed not to suck his peppermint down his throat, “O-oh H-, She’s..um, we’re not… ” He stammered, unwilling to just announce he was texting a thirty-five year old man he met on the streets. He still had a few months left till his birthday, and he didn’t think Wade would entertain the idea even then. 

 

The woman patted his arm sympathetically, “I understand, but don’t waste time young’in. You only got so much of it.” She gathered her things, leaving him with a parting gift of a handful of peppermints before shuffling off to the front of the bus for her stop. 

 

[You ever have any profound random interactions with strangers?] Peter typed after stowing the candies in his pockets. 

 

[Well yeah, but no glove no love kid. Play safe, consent is sexy… Okay, I’m out of campaign logos.] The dancing condom gif was  _ definitely _ not needed, and Peter didn’t even care if he got glared down from the burst of laughter that followed. 

 

Peter huffed, tugging a leg up to lean his head against. [Not what I meant, but I’ll keep that in mind.]

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Snow blanketed the city. Getting back from the gym while the weather tried to entomb him in ice wasn’t Peter’s idea of fun, but he rushed all the same. His phone had died hours ago, and aside from his job, school, sleep, or Wade working, it was the longest he’d gone in months without texting Wade. It had just become an effortless part of his day. 

 

And yeah, he felt a bit bad about hiding it from Aunt May, but he wasn’t sure how exactly to explain it without her getting over protective. Wade had never done anything to make him feel uncomfortable, but his crush on him made Peter feel immensely transparent. Ned had already called him out on it, and he could deal without any more teasing for mooning over an older man. 

 

“Dinner’ll ready in thirty… Maybe.” May greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and bustled back to the messy kitchen. The past few months had seen effort made on both their ends, Peter with breakfast, and May with dinner. There was a steep learning curve, but a good seventy-five percent of their meals ended up edible these days, which was a stark improvement of their first few attempts that either ended up burnt or with food poisoning. 

 

“K, going to take a shower and charge my phone.” Peter smelled gross, and he’d be the first to admit it. He was getting out of the worst of the hormonal spikes, but whenever he worked out in earnest it still startled him how  _ rank _ he could get. It was awesome.

 

He popped his phone on the charger, and by the time he showered, ate dinner, and watched a television show or two with May, it was fully charged again.

 

A flurry of five texts greeted him, [Okay, But you can’t just say that.] [Is this the hill you want to die on?] [It’s like I don’t even KNOW you.] [Domino has finally done it. She’s killed you] [I’ll avenge you]. There were too many emojis dispersed throughout for him to linger on as he flopped over onto his bed. 

 

[My phone died and then I had to shower. Smelled like a gym locker.] He rolled over onto his stomach, shoving a pillow under his armpits to prop his head on. 

 

[Oh, uh. So I should call off the hit then. Awkward]

 

Peter snickered, [You would really avenge me?]

 

[Of course Peter-pumpkin-eater!]

 

He liked it when Wade called him pet names from his ample grab-bag of them. Sometimes he felt stupid for being a nearly eighteen-year-old man that loved being called baby names by someone he liked, but he was making up for lost time here!

 

Biting the inside of his lip, Peter typed out something he’d wanted to ask for months. [When can I see you again? I want to show you what Domino has taught me.] There, that was a perfectly plausible excuse for them to meet up. 

 

Wade’s reply took longer than usual, [Don’t think that’s a great idea.] That sounded oddly serious. Peter didn’t like when Wade sounded serious, it usually meant he was having a ‘bad head day’, or a job had gotten to him. 

[Why not? ]

 

[Don’t really want to get Date-lined, peanut-butter-cup.] The laughing emojis didn’t prevent Peter’s disappointment.

 

Flopping over on his back, he sighed, [I wanted to punch you, not grab a hotel room. Were you planning on  _ Manhattan _ ing me or something?]

 

[Okay, Number one, how the hell do you even know about that movie. Number two, It’s  _ so _ much creepier now right? And number three, believe me, baby boy, I wouldn’t be tempted by a side piece after.] 

 

Peter’s cheeks heated. ‘Baby boy’ was a new one… A very, very good new one. He wanted to hear it again. [I’ll be eighteen next month!]

 

[Next being the key word there. Believe me, I’m scum of the earth, but I’m not  _ that _ .]

 

Peter sighed, momentarily dropping his phone to his bed. Logically, he’d agree with Wade’s reasoning. It was him not being creepy as hell, which, objectively, was a good thing. On the reverse side of that, Peter hated every minute of it.  He’d never looked forward to his birthday so much in his life.

 

[I get it.] He reluctantly typed instead of arguing, [What’d you do while Domino beat me with her whoopin’ gloves?]

 

They fell into an easy conversation like they did every night, but Peter couldn’t help but feel the nugget of disappointment churn within. 

 

* * *

The first day Peter writes it off as Wade being busy with work, but when one day turns to three, he started to get nervous. They haven’t stopped talking for six months. Peter didn’t even have that much to say to his best friend, but talking with Wade had just become a part of his daily life. It was as sure as getting up in the morning, grumbling that his usual desk wobbled in Calculus, or Aunt May kissing his cheek two seconds into the door. It just  _ was _ . 

 

The longer he waited, the worse the dread in his stomach grew. Had Wade gotten tired of him? Had he gotten arrested? Or maybe… something worse? 

 

Images of Wade stumbling into his apartment bloodied and concussed replayed in Peter’s mind every time he dared let his mind dwell on the ‘what if’s too long. Sometimes he forgot Wade had a dangerous job when they were just chatting, but Wade operated outside of the law. Something could happen to him every day and Peter would never know. 

Domino had no idea either. 

 

“Don’t know what to tell you, kid, I can ask around, but I can guarantee Weasel won’t know either. Wade likes to keep his cards close,” She shrugged into her jacket after their usual workout, taking a moment to side eye him. “Well, He  _ did _ . Fuck if I know why he started talking to you.” She sniffed, blunt, but not overly cruel about it. “You sure you’re not fucking?”

 

Peter sputtered, tying the laces of his worn trainers. “No! Wade isn’t, he isn’t like that.” Peter grumbled, ”It’s my birthday next week anyway.” He grumbled. Not that it apparently mattered now. He just hoped Wade was alright.

 

“Whatever you say, jailbait. Remember your protein, we’re bumping up your weights next week.” Domino walked back to gently smack him on the back of the head as she passed, sauntering out into the blistering cold with little more than a light-weight jacket and skin-tight jeans. Not that she ever got sick. Domino didn’t have the problem mere mortals like him did, she was something else entirely. Luck dripped off her like honey, and Peter would admit to a bit of jealousy whenever he ended up tripping and making an idiot out of himself in the gym while she turned fumbles into art. 

 

Sighing, he stared down at his phone for the umpteenth time in past two weeks. He had to be more proactive.

 

Wade had been pretty clear about them not meeting up, but Peter just wanted to make sure he was alright. Surely, Wade would understand that? 

 

Tracing his way back to Wade’s neck of the woods wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it had been the last time. It had been nearly six months since then, and with the combination of his continued hormone treatment and Domino’s iron fist, Peter felt more confident than he ever had that he wouldn’t be so readily singled out as easy pickings anymore. 

 

Wade lived on the third story, Peter remembered that much. He found the tell-tale door with one too many Dora the Explorer stickers stuck at shin-level(Wade swore they were from a neighbor kid, but Peter had his doubts), and knocked. And knocked… and knocked. Five minutes went by before a dark haired man poked his head out from a nearby apartment and snapped at him to shut the hell up. 

 

Alright, well. Peter could be stubborn when he was worried, so in Wade’s own words, it was time for maximum effort. Scrambling up the fire escape after a wet slushie rain that had frozen overnight wasn’t his best idea ever, but he managed it without plunging to his death. So, you know, win. 

 

He crouched in front of Wade’s window, rubbing at it a moment to clear away the clinging frost. The sad sight of Wade’s potted plant sitting on the window seal greeted him, withered and dry. Wade hadn’t been the best at caring for it, but he’d kept it watered enough to be alive.

 

Peering closer, he could make out the general mess of Wade’s kitchen slash living room, including the clutter of the coffee table. There was a plate of half-eaten chicken fingers that were getting to the point of looking like fossilized turds. 

 

Where the hell had he gone?

 

The brief investigation did nothing to sway Peter’s persistence, if anything, it only ignited it. He sent a text every morning, and every night, hoping against hope that maybe Wade would get annoyed one day and just tell him he’d stopped talking for a reason. Anything was better than the alternative. 

 

Ned’s suggestion of calling up morgues for any rough matches in the past month hadn’t gone overall, not that Peter really blamed him, he just —  didn’t want to think that way. 

 

A month after the radio silence began, Peter heard his phone go off while he was busy doing pushups in the middle of his floor. He ignored it, figuring it was Ned, until he was done and showered. 

 

[Hey, Pumpernickel bread. Frgv me?] There was a flurry of flower emojis that made Peter’s heart pick up more than his nightly workout had. 

 

[Jesus christ Wade, where were you!] He fired off, throwing himself down on his bed despite just being in boxer shorts. Aunt May had informed him in a grossly uncomfortable ‘Aunt to Nephew’ talk that she wouldn’t barge into his room anymore,  _ just in case _ , and he’d nearly gagged. Considerate yes, but he didn’t want to have that conversation with the woman that was more mother than aunt to him. 

 

The reply takes longer than usual. A hell of a lot longer, so long that Peter abandoned his phone for a few minutes to pull on a sweatshirt and some pajama pants to fight the chill of the room. 

 

[Long stiry, kiddo.] 

 

[Okay? I’m not going anywhere. Spill. You had me worried man!] It felt stupid to type, but Peter wanted Wade to know just how worried he’d been. 

 

Twenty minutes go by, and Peter nearly fell asleep on top of his phone. [Mght of… been lade up for a bt. Got a ne phone, the old 1 didn’t make it.]

 

Peter sat upright, staring down at his phone incredulously. What did he mean ‘didn’t make it’?

[Laid up? Like, in the hospital laid up?]

 

Peter tiptoed into the kitchen for a glass of milk to calm the nervous bile churning in his stomach, staring at his phone so intently he almost poured the milk straight onto the counter.

 

[More r less… K, more. Nurses are not at ALL hot. I feel cheeted.] 

 

Peter couldn’t muster the usual snicker that would have elicited. [Are you okay? How bad is it? What happened?] He flooded Wade with questions, milk forgotten on the counter as he plopped down at the small table crammed into their squat kitchen. 

 

[Stil ticking. Don worry bout it kid. Thanks 4 all your texts, thought teh phone was going to blow up! Worried about me bby b?] 

 

Peter worried his lip, wandering back off towards his room. [Fucking duh. I went by your apartment a few weeks ago, not in a creepy way. I was just worried?]

 

[Aw, my heart just grew 3 sizes. I can here the beeping summoning Cruella the Nurse now.] A few of the emojis didn’t make sense, but then again Wade was making a lot of spelling errors that weren’t out of his usual laziness with chatspeak. 

 

He never gets how bad it is out of Wade, only that he’ll be in the hospital a while longer. Wade won’t tell him the hospital, even when he promises he won’t visit he’ll just send him gifts. Even now Wade is holding him at arms-length. 

 

[Just, keep talking to me Peaches?]

 

It was three in the morning and Peter had a text tomorrow, but it would have taken an act of god to pry the phone out of him after a question like that.

 

[So how’s hospital food?]

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


[Zeus’s glorious nutsack it’s good to be back in my own bed.]

 

The text catches Peter so off guard he chokes on his water bottle. Holy shit, Wade was home! 

 

“I gotta go!” He called over his shoulder where Domino was busy changing the music on her phone. 

 

“What? You’re not done!” Nothing short of profuse bleeding got Domino’s mercy, but Peter had a mission.

 

Peter tugged on his sweatpants over his gym shorts, “Wade’s home!” Wrestling into his hoodie over his sweat-drenched sports binder and tank top was less than ideal, but he’d deal with the post-work out funk after he knew Wade was in one piece.

 

Domino paused, “Oh shit, really?” She appraised him, squinting her deep left eye contrasted so starkly by the smooth cream of her vitiligo framing her eye and brow in the shape of a diamond.  “Fine, go on. Kick his ass for me.” She grumbled, but the note of relief in her voice was plain as day to anyone that knew her. 

 

Peter made the forty five minute journey twenty with his newly purchased scooter. He’d been working his ass off to afford a decent means of transportation but he hadn’t wanted to cut into his surgery fund to do it. May, in all her unfathomable wonder, had gifted him way more money than he’d thought necessary as an early graduation present. 

 

Parking it in a back alley, covering it with a tarp, and chaining the ever-loving hell out of it to a nearby drainage pipe took longer than he’d wanted, but he wasn’t about to get his new ride stolen. 

 

He’s halfway up the fire escape before good reason kicks in. [Theoretically, what would you do if someone visited?] Peter had taken the fire escape as a first option before he knew in the pit of his stomach Wade might refuse him, but he just had to be sure.

 

[Doubt anyone would kid.] Today seemed like a ‘bad head day’ in terms of Wade’s texting, but Peter didn’t come there far to turn back now. 

 

He crouched next to the window, pressing on it tentatively to see if it would rattle. It slid up easily because of course, Wade didn’t have the good sense to lock his damn window. Rolling his eyes, Peter eased it open as slowly and quietly as he could.

 

It was technically breaking and entering, but Peter figured if Wade operated ninety-nine percent outside of the law, he’d forgive him for the villainy.  

 

He eased his backpack to the ground and slipped inside, not initially seeing Wade in either the kitchen or the living room. 

 

Peter closed the window and moved inside, stepping quietly so he wouldn’t scare the ever-loving hell out of Wade… Sneaking up on him was probably equally as stupid, but Peter was banking on the ‘injured’ status to not immediately get Wade on the defensive from a home invader, well-meaning or otherwise.

 

When he first spotted Wade sitting on his bed towards his window, Peter doesn’t immediately recognize him. Before he can stop himself, he gasped, the soul-deep shock of seeing what he considered to be one of his closest friends so… different, too much to keep inside.

 

Wade bristled, coming back to himself from his spaced-staring. The phone he held loosely in his red, partially wrapped hands fell to the ground with a clatter. 

 

There is too much to take in immediately and Wade only has his hands and head visible. The ‘how’ abruptly slots into place, because the only thing Peter can think of that could do this was fire. From Peter’s estimation, he figured a good portion of Wade’s face had been burned, stripping away the familiar fall of soft brown hair, or the waggly length of Wade’s eyebrows, leaving only tight, healing scar tissue in return. 

 

Wade swallowed, and a thin, nervous smile tugged at his lips. “Jesus kiddo almost didn’t recognize you.” It was supposed to be funny, considering Peter looked about as night-and-day different but for vastly different reasons. 

 

The memory of Wade walking into the bathroom that night, seeing him in his binder, and breezing past it surface. Wade had never made him feel uncomfortable about being a transman, not for one moment. 

 

Peter walked forward and dropped himself on the edge of the bed, kicking off his sodden trainers. “Your plant died. I would have watered it… but,” Peter offered him a soft smile, conscious that his voice was about two octaves deeper than it had been when they’d first met. 

 

Wade stared long enough that Peter wondered if maybe he had fucked up inadvertently. It wasn’t until Wade braced an arm against his chest and laughed did Peter realize that he might have paid it forward, if even just a bit. 

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

 

 

Today was trying, Peter would admit it. Maybe it was just getting off work or having to lie to May again about where he was going (He swore he was going to tell her… eventually), but tonight one of Wade’s bad days wasn’t as easy to dismiss. 

 

Not that he didn’t understand them. Peter was amazed at how Wade could still be  _ Wade _ . Somedays it was like nothing had changed, and Wade was his idiotic, if not slightly deranged self. Then others… well, he’d read that having depressive episodes and mood swings after an intense trauma was normal, and considering Wade’s pre-existing issues, Peter had braced himself. 

 

Peter yawned, leaning against the kitchen counter as he debated on making coffee or hot cocoa. He opted for the latter, not wanting to tempt Wade with the caffeine. Convincing the man to give up at least  _ one _ vice to help his healing along hadn’t been easy, and Wade protested the one-cup-a-day rule every chance he got. 

 

He wasn’t being controlling! Honestly, he just wanted Wade to take better care of himself. And moping while eating pizza wasn’t going to cut it.    
  
He put on a pan with some milk to start them off and walked around the kitchen island to get closer to the couch. “Hey, did you eat anything besides crap all day?” Peter asked, picking up Wade’s legs and shimmying under them.

 

He felt Wade’s muscles stiffen through his sweatpants, a dead give away today wasn’t a good day. Sometimes Wade didn’t mind the touching, but other times Peter could see the usually confident-to-a-fault man shrink in on himself.

 

Wade shifted, arms folded over his chest and eyes directed to the ceiling. “Maybe? _Bulllllshiiitttt_ **So we’re tattletales now? Is this what we’ve been reduced to? I remember when we used to** ** _mean_** **something**.” He reached up to scrub a hand over his face, yet midway he paused with a flinch and tucked his arm back to his chest. 

 

Peter’s hands trailed down to Wade’s right calf. His left one had gotten off largely unscathed, but there were areas in his leg that had gotten the third degree, and then some. Over the past month Peter had mapped out all that Wade would let him, taking note of what sort of burn was where, and spending more time online in forums reading than Wade certainly did. 

 

He started a gentle massage, careful to move on if Wade tensed or his jaw flexed with barely-there tension. Wade would never admit to when he was in pain, too used to taking it and walking on, but Peter didn’t want to see him suffer needlessly. 

 

“Hm, Mexican?” Peter suggested, pulling out Wade’s favorites when his mood soured.

 

Wade blinked from the ceiling, “You’re not going to ask?”

 

Peter puffed a frustrated breath, “That kind of already answered it.” He grumbled, knowing full well Wade hadn’t gone to physical therapy. Again. 

 

A small frown tugged at Wade’s lips, ”Why bother? Everyone there is old as dirt and it’s — “ ‘Humiliating’ stalled on his tongue, but Peter had heard the complains enough to know Wade hated it. 

 

“You need it.” Peter ran a thumb down Wade’s soleus muscle, right at the parting of muscle nearing his ankle. Wade tensed, biting the inside of his lip. “That wasn’t hard, Wade you’re tensing up again and it’ll be  _ so  _ much friggin’ harder if you don’t go regularly.” He hated seeing Wade like this, when it all got overwhelming and the twinkle went out of his eyes. It was moments like these that Peter hated, even more, having to go home before the trains stopped, knowing that Wade would fade back into not taking care of himself without a watchful eye. 

 

Wade’s eyes rolled and he tugged his legs back as he struggled into sitting upright. “Been  _ googling _ again?” He smirked, tugging the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head. 

 

“Yeah, amazing thing, that internet.” Peter was tempted to roll his eyes in return, but instead, he reached out towards the coffee table and grabbed one of Wade’s pill bottles. “Dollars to donuts you haven’t taken one today, so come on.” He held the bottle out, daring Wade to argue. 

 

Wade’s expression soured further, but he took the bottle. “I’m not going.”

 

“Wade — “

 

“I don’t get it kid, why are you still  _ here _ ?” Wade tossed the pill back dry, grimacing as it blazed a rough trail down his throat. 

 

Peter stiffened, taking the bottle back to slam it home on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. “What is that suppose to mean?”

 

Wade stood, trying not to seem as rigid and uncomfortable as he was, but Peter could see it a mile away. “Like I get it, I helped you in a tight spot, so now what? Lost puppy syndrome? Pity-party? Because I can’t fucking figure out why you’re bothering unless you’re as cracked as I am.” 

 

Seeing Wade get pissy wasn’t new. Peter had an attitude himself, and it was generally fine. But this? This was new. Peter stared up at Wade a moment, lost and more than a touch confused.  It came so far out of left field that Peter almost blurted the obvious. 

 

“You really have to ask that?” Peter felt his shoulders slump, the piss and vinegar swept right out of him.

 

Wade’s expression wavered on his trek to the kitchen for a bear to chase down the chalky pain pill. “ _Don’t take booze with pills kids. Don’t pull a Scott Weiland._ **Oh man, Too soon.** _You gotta let this go, move on. It’s time…_ ” Wade grumbled as he fished a bottle from the fridge. 

 

Peter waited until Wade would eventually get his mind back on track, but seeing that Wade never brought his eyes back up to look at him, that wasn’t going to happen. 

 

“Fine.” Peter stood to grab his backpack from near the coffee table, ”I get it. I’m annoying, I make you do things you don’t want to, but that’s what friends  _ do, _ Wade. And I thought…” His chest clenched uncomfortably, swelling with everything he had tried to hint at before. “Eat something more than shitty pizza.” He puffed, storming out before he could end up saying something stupid.

 

* * *

 

Going behind Wade’s back and going to visit his physical therapist might be toeing the line on ‘too far’, but considering it was Wade, Peter would give himself a free pass. Paved with good intentions and all that… right?

 

Walking into the building, it didn’t look nearly as depressing as Peter had expected from Wade’s melodramatic description of blue tile and a hallway that ‘perpetually smells like fucking tuna’. He walked down the winding halls until he found the main room where the bulk of the therapy sessions took place, timidly peering in to see if he could spot Wade’s therapist. He hadn’t actually ever seen the man, but from Wade’s description, Peter was confident he could spot him.

 

“May I help you?” A heavily accented voice behind him almost startled him out of his skin, and Peter wheeled around. Standing behind him was possibly the largest man Peter had ever seen in his life, and he instantly knew this to be the ‘Big ass choir boy of a Russian’ Wade whined about.

 

“O-oh, um, Piotr Rasputin? You’re Wade Wilson’s physical therapist, right? I’m um, Peter… Parker. Name buddies?” Peter smiled nervously, immediately wanting to shrink in the shadow of a man that could easily pick him up and throw him clear across state lines.

 

Piotr peered at him before his lips broke into a broad grin, and a warm chuckle rumbled from his broad, muscular chest. “Ah yes! Young Peter Parker! Wade speaks of you often! Mainly between the complains and the overtures, but I have heard of you, yes!” He reached out to clap a broad hand to Peter’s shoulder.

 

Peter staggered under the friendly ‘pat’. Despite long hours in the gym and gaining twenty good pounds in muscle and fat over the past seven or so months, he looked like a waif next to the Russian. 

 

“That’s — Ow, great! I was actually hoping to talk about him a little?” Peter ventured, unsure if Piotr was even allowed to say anything to him about Wade. 

 

Piotr’s warm face pinched into a disappointed frown, “Of course, but he has missed his last three appointments I’m afraid. Very discouraging, with his level of injury, being lax can lead to complications down the road.” He turned to guide Peter back down the hallway to a small sitting room. Watching Piotr fold his towering figure into a small, blue paisley upholstered chair was more nerve-wracking than building the courage to come in here in the first place. 

 

“Right! That’s… what I wanted to talk about. I’ve tried to get him to come but he’s just… His moods aren’t getting any better and we had a big fight and — Well, I don’t know how to get him here, and I thought maybe you’d know?” Peter asked with a hopeful lilt. 

 

Leaning back in the creaking chair, Piotr hummed a note of thought. “What has he said? About his sessions?”

 

Peter flinched, ”Um, a lot of things. You know Wade, he’s… vocal.” He huffed a thin laugh, “But I think he just doesn’t like people seeing him like that, you know? I knew him before the… before the accident,” It was listed as an accident anyway. Retaliation in response to a hired beat-down wasn’t something one could put on a hospital form. ”He wouldn’t say it out loud, but the burns and stuff, he doesn’t like people seeing his face.” 

 

A moment of thoughtful silence lapsed, enough where Peter glanced up to see if Piotr had gotten distracted. Instead, the man sat back as far as the chair allowed and nodded, thumbing along his square job in deep thought. 

 

“Wade was a vain one,” Piotr nodded a little more firmly, “He jokes, teases, and flirts, but I see it. Very insecure, but he has a good friend in you I think. For you to come down here, gives me hope for him.” He smiled with such a warmth that Peter reflexively blushed. He wasn’t attracted to men quite so imposing as Piotr, but this wasn’t attraction. Rather, he was taken off guard at how much he thought hanging around Piotr might want to make him do better by proxy. 

 

God, Domino would have a field day with a man like Piotr. 

 

“Th-thanks.” Peter stammered, “I’m worried about him. He just kind of mopes around and won’t do his exercises, and coming from a dude that liked punching for funsies, it’s got to mess with his head a little.” 

 

Piotr’s brow climbed at the ‘punching people’ comment, but thankfully he didn’t press. He clicked his tongue, chuckling as he reached out to grip Peter’s shoulder in a squeeze that was surprisingly feather-light for hands that looked like they could crush beer cans with a twitch. “I see now! I didn’t realize Wade had such a young partner to care for him. It is good! Why I like living here, after my sister’s recovery, she found her partner here. Cute wedding, very proud.” He squeezed a hair tighter, jostling Peter just a bit in solidarity.

 

Cheeks firmly on fire at this point, Peter shook his head.”Oh, it’s not — We’re not, I mean I wish? Crap, I mean… I don’t think Wade is up for that anymore.” He smiled thinly, trying not to think on past conversations that had hinted that if he was older, Wade would have wanted to pursue  _ something _ with him. At least give it a try, but these days, neither brought it up anymore, especially after the fight. 

 

Piotr studied him a moment longer, hum nearly a purr in his chest. ”I see young Peter, well let us see if we can do something about that. I have idea.” He leaned in as if his naturally pervasive voice wouldn’t carry around the room with perfect clarity anyway. Apparently, there were schemes afoot. 

 

* * *

 

 

Peter didn’t quite expect his Russian name buddy to be quite so receptive to getting Wade back from the brink, especially to intact their plan just a day later. He only hoped Wade didn’t get mad about this. Wishful thinking, but Peter was willing to take the brunt of the complains if it got his ass doing things again. 

 

Piotr’s heavy fist came down on Wade’s door, knocking three times. A minute ticked by, and Peter rolled his eyes and knocked to ‘Shave and a haircut’, Wade’s own smart-ass knock.

 

“Now  _ that’s _ a secret clubhouse knock!” Wade sighed dramatically from inside and the sound of his shuffling slippers towards the door grew closer. He didn’t bother peering through the door since only a handful of Wade’s personal acquaintances knew the ‘secret knock’.

 

“Wade! Good to see you my friend.” 

 

“Oh fuck no,”

 

Peter leaned around Piotr wish a sheepish smile, seeing the look of dawning dread pull over Wade’s scarred face. 

 

“Don’t be mad,” He prefaced as Piotr reached out to pull Wade into blessedly lose embrace.

 

Wade’s complaint was lost in the expanse of Piotr’s chest as they walked inside. Piotr looked around, sniffling dramatically. ”I told you, environment is key to recovery! You listen to nothing.”   
  


“This is my castle, I can bathe in dirty jizz socks if I want to!” Try as he might, Wade couldn’t plant his feet firm enough to stop Piotr from advancing and moving the couch to make more room. 

 

“You’re a disgusting man, Wade. Such language in front of your  _ malysh _ .” Piotr shook his head, nose curling in disgust. ”Go, go now. Change clothes. Don’t waste our time and care. Peter, hand me broom.” Piotr easily swept in and took command, and in short order, Peter had swept and vacuumed while Wade begrudgingly changed and did his initial stretches. 

 

Peter wisely made himself scarce and went to go fetch a Piotr-approved dinner of poke-bowls and smoothies, even if he did sneak in a pint of Wade’s favorite ice cream in through his backpack while Piotr wasn’t looking. Peter was all for helping, but he wasn’t about to deny a man ice cream. 

 

Wade was too hungry and tired after Piotr left to bother getting snippy, and Peter was happy to let the argument fade into obscurity. Wade hadn’t outright demanded Piotr to go fuck himself when the man said he’d return in two days for their next session. So, all in all, it was a start. 

 

Three sessions later Peter sat back on the couch after grabbing some sushi, and snorted when Wade flopped his sweat-soaked body over his lap. Piotr had left him with some kind of green-shake horror sitting on the table that even Peter wasn’t about to make him drink. Why did everything have to have spinach in it?

 

“Ugh, gross.” Peter whined, weakly pawing at Wade to get off him all the while secretly savouring the moments when Wade initiated this kind of contact on his own. 

 

“Didn’t burn off all my sweat glands. Sucks for you.” Wade snickered, wallowing around like a wet dog until he’d mopped himself dry on Peter’s pants. He was already moving easier than he had before, the lingering funk of inactivity depression lifting if only a little. At this point, and improvement was a night and day difference.

 

Peter snorted and reached down to flick the end of Wade’s nose. ”Should I take the hose to you?” He smirked, smile softening as Wade wiggled down enough to rest his head in his lap. For once, Wade didn’t have his hood pulled up to hide the tight tissue over his head.

 

“Is that an innuendo? Scandalous.” Wade yawned, relaxing his tired body with a hum of satisfaction. He’d always been a man born to move, and Peter had watched him wall himself off for too long. 

 

Jeopardy played in the background, but Peter was watching Wade instead, hand resting over Wade’s forehead, gently thumbing the skin that had once boasted a thick, expressive eyebrow with a scar bifurcating the edge of it. 

 

“Hey, kid?” Wade started, and Peter blinked from his daydreaming. “Thanks for shoving the Russian rube at me. I know I’ve — … fuck, I know I haven’t been my effervescent self lately.” He offered a small smile, one too timid and unsure to belong on Wade’s cocky lips. 

 

Peter smiled, ‘booping’ Wade on the nose this time. ”Tell me how awesome I am while we eat sushi, you’re not the only one getting their butt handed to them today. Domino is  _ sick _ .” Wade was happy to pick up the thread of Peter’s jest, diffusing the tension that had threatened to choke the both of them up if it lingered.

 

* * *

 

Tonight, Peter might actually die.

 

It was nearly one in the morning and he was still at Wade’s. In retrospect, Wade getting the latest gen gaming console had been a bad idea. Getting two controllers had been even worse. There was no way Peter was staying awake long enough to get home on his scooter only to get up in a few hours for his work shift.

 

“Mind if I crash here?” He asked, finishing off his soda and tossing it into the trashcan with a yawn. Peter had said it casually enough, but he hadn’t spent the night here since nearly a year ago. It felt like a lifetime ago when he’d still been in the knobby-kneed stage of his late puberty, all pimples and squeaks.  

 

Wade glanced up from the television screen, “Shit it’s fucking late, yeah sure.” He waved it off and went back to shooting up zombies. 

 

Peter watched him a moment before shrugging, ”I’m going to grab a shower. You should too, after me, that sweatshirt smells like wet dog.” 

 

“Hey! Ol’Reliable won’t take that disrespect out of you, Karate Kid! She’s  _ weathered _ . This armpit hole is a badge of pride!” Wade’s dramatic ranting followed him all the way to the bathroom. This time around, he didn’t feel nearly as nervous stripping down and hopping into the shower. The body looking back at him in the mirror might still be a work in progress, but he was changing it every day. 

 

The sound of snarls and gunshots greeted him as he walked out, ruffling a towel through his hair. “Wade? Pack it in, Piotr will kick your ass if you stay up all night.” It was no small secret that Wade had issues sleeping. Sometimes he looked on the verge of falling asleep standing up if sheer gumption alone didn’t animate him. “Been taking your pill?”

 

Wade paused the game with a sigh, “Which one? You know, if I wanted to choke down pills every day I would have just married Greg and lived the picket-fence life Momma always wanted for me. Greg was going to  _ medical school _ .” Despite his huffing and puffing, Wade got up and carefully stripped out of his hoodie to drop it in the laundry pile.

 

Wade had only started letting Peter see him shirtless for the past two weeks, and Peter was careful not to let his eyes linger. It was a huge sign of trust that Peter didn’t want to fuck up just because he wanted to trace his fingers over the spots he knew still pained Wade. 

 

“Shut up and go shower, Pepé Le Pew.” Peter reached out to playfully prod Wade in a section of his side that hadn’t been burned, only for Wade to snatch a handout and tug him close. Wade was getting stronger again, and Peter wasn’t going to lie when he thought it was a bit distracting to see Wade getting a little bit of himself back.

 

“Does that make you Penelope Pussycat?” Wade grinned impishly, right before he raised his armpit and shoved Peter’s hand in it.

 

“WADE!” Peter shrieked, swatting him away while trying to stamp down the burst of giggles that fluttered his chest. 

 

Triumphant, Wade walked into the bathroom, swaying slightly as he yawned and tipped the bathroom door as closed as it would go. 

 

Peter was settling a pillow on the couch when he heard a loud crash. Cussing, he surged up, hurrying towards the bathroom. 

 

Wade was reaching to shut off the water, murmuring aggressively under his breath and he leaned heavily against the tile wall. The majority of the shower’s contents had tumbled to the shower floor, leaving a mess of combined soap and a shampoo bottle Peter had left over a month ago. 

 

“Shit, hold on.” Peter retrieved a towel from the rack and held it out, waiting until Wade registered he was even there to press it a little closer. 

 

Where Wade’s ‘boxes’ would usually calm down right about now, they didn’t and Wade’s grip tightened around the towel until the cloth strained against his hands. 

 

“Wade? Wade look at me.” Peter gently soothed, reaching out to place his hands on either side of Wade’s damp face. It took a handful of seconds for Wade’s eyes to focus, but once they did Peter saw the dawning of realization within. “Hey. come on, before you slip.”

 

Wade glanced down at the mess and puffed an annoyed breath through his nose, “Goddamit.” His hand shook when it met Peter’s shoulder, and getting both of them safely to the bathmat took a little negotiating in the small apartment bathroom. 

 

“It’s just soap, no worries.” Peter assured, retrieving another towel so he could press it to Wade’s back. ”Wonder how much of a pain installing one of those bar things — no wait, I think they make them suction cupped too? I’ll google it.” He kept talking if only so he didn’t end up doing something stupid like calling to attention that he was helping Wade get dry. 

 

“Oh boy, let’s go ahead and get me fitted for dentures and corduroy,” Wade grumbled, roughly drying his face despite knowing it would aggravate his sensitive skin. 

 

Peter reached out to take the towel from Wade’s hand before he could stretch his skin to tearing without it having a moisture layer on yet. “Bet you could pull them off.” He looked at Wade through the fogged mirror, only to find Wade’s eyes downturned.

 

“This is — fuck, it’s bullshit! I’m not  _ this _ ! I was a fucking soldier and now this?” Wade scowled, looking down at his scarred, quivering hands. Peter rarely heard about Wade’s background past when he started doing hired work, but he’d gathered enough to know that Wade had served in the military in some capacity. “Just fucking  _ useless _ . If those fuckers were going to torch me they could have made sure they tossed in enough gas to finish the job.” He hissed, clamping his hands on the sink to prevent seeing them shake anymore.

 

Peter’s hand stilled, staring at the twisted face of loathing and rage in the mirror. Finally, Wade’s eyes flick up to meet his, and Peter buckles. The towel drops to the side as Peter leaned forward, wrapping his strong arms around Wade’s back and drawing him close, burying his head between Wade’s shoulder blades. 

 

Wade’s body gently rocked from the force of the hug, and with a bit of effort, he coaxed Peter to loosen enough to let him turn around. “Shit, Kid… I’m sorry. I — I shouldn’t have said that.” He murmured, pressing his face to the top of Peter’s damp hair.

 

They stayed in the rapidly cooling bathroom for what felt like eons, until Peter was sure Wade wouldn’t suddenly float away, and until Wade could bring himself to part from Peter’s comfort. Wordlessly, Peter offered Wade the fallen towel and reached into the medicine cabinet to retrieve the cream that Wade had to diligently apply day and night to keep his skin pliable. 

 

“You don’t — “

 

“Please?” Peter stood with the tube in hand, aiming his most devastating puppy-eyes until Wade puffed and rolled his eyes. After all that, Peter wasn’t about to leave Wade be alone. 

 

Reverently, Peter took a palm-full of cream in his hand and started kneading it over Wade’s shoulders, neck, and arms, leaving his face and head for Wade to do. Slowly, he trailed down, finally mapping the spots that were more badly scarred than others. The left side of Wade’s torso had gotten away with light burns only, not enough to scar, but the right had a myriad of spots that had burned down to the third degree. There was a deep burn that had nearly bitten into Wade’s hipbone on the left that Peter carefully touched, frowning softly as Wade puffed quiet, pained breaths no matter how light of a touch was applied. 

 

Peter was about to ask Wade to sit down so he could get his legs before his eyes trailed down long enough to spot a flash of color on Wade’s right buttcheek. A garish white and rainbow unicorn reared on its hind-legs on the swell of Wade’s round ass, complete with a  rainbow background and implied sparkles.

 

Despite the situation, Peter lost it. Wade back glanced to see what had punched unbridled glee out of him, a grin breaking over his lips the moment he connected the dots. “Like it? Inspired by you! Got it a month after you crashed on my couch.” He wiggled his hips, drawing Peter’s eyes to his ass again.

 

They before dissolved into childish giggles, which made applying the rest of the cream to Wade’s body even more hell, but neither of them minded if it took a little while. 

 

“I can’t believe you…” Peter smiled, pulling down the blankets to help Wade get comfortable. 

 

“Don’t give me ideas then, “ Wade winked, shifting a little to get comfortable, which was a chore since his pajamas stuck to him for hours after the medication was applied. 

 

“I’ll remember that,” Snorting, Peter walked off to put up the cream and wash his hands, Stepping out of the bathroom, he looked at Wade tucked up in bed, and made a decision.

 

He walked to the other side of the bed with as much casual ease as his nervous heart could manage, and eased himself under the blanket, slow enough that Wade could interfere and banish him from the room if he desired. The order never came, and Peter dared to slide closer until their shoulders were side by side. 

 

Easing into bed was easier than either one of them expected, and Peter wondered why the hell he hadn’t been doing this all along. Reaching out, he looped his arm around Wade’s and turned to press his head into his shoulder, quietly breathing the faint, medicinal tinge of the ointment and the fading fresh laundry scent that clung to Wade’s sleep shirt. 

 

Wade shifted a little closer, staring idly up at the ceiling. “So…” he began, and Peter braced himself, ”you turned eighteen while I was laid up, right?” He asked, and Peter reached over to thump him on the chest with a gentle swat that got them both chuckling again. 

 

Right around the time Peter was nodding off, Wade inhaled deeply, ”So when I get the pass from PT, just putting it out there, my dick didn’t get burned, so — Hey come on!” Peter swatted him again, and they grinned, pressing a little closer in the sanctity of Wade’s bed. 

 

This time it was Peter that broke the silence. He sat up a little, sliding close enough to where he could lean over and whisper, “Does that mean I’m finally your boyfriend then?”, against Wade’s ear. 

 

Wade’s breath shuddered from his lips, and he turned, moving carefully until he could close a little of the distance between them. The first press of lips against lips felt like coming home, a delicate, chaste slide of skin. 

 

They slotted closer in a tender tangle of limbs, and if the shoulders of certain pajamas got a little damp, well, Peter figured they were owed a little bit of tenderness. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For more information, requests, or updates, go to: http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Writes
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